The Point of Inspiration
by obliviongates
Summary: She just wanted a place to stay and Mort Rainey just needed some inspiration. Better summary inside.
1. Misunderstood

1Summary- She just wanted a place to stay and Mort Rainey just needed some inspiration. When Mort meets Jordan Rees, a young writer who is more disturbed than he is- he found his inspiration. But can he help her find himself and can she help him from destroying the rest of his life? What happens next, isn't normal. Not a romance and takes place during the movie.

Chapter One-Misunderstood

'Oh god, they're staring at me again.' Jordan Rees thought to herself as she bent over her paper, shielding it from the prying eyes. She was a freshman in College and was supposed to be writing a paper for her World History class, but she had an idea in her head that she just had to write down, lest she forget it. Closing her eyes, Jordan tried to block out the whispers of her fellow classmates, trying to focus on her story instead.

You see, Jordan was considered strange by many people. It was said that she was a bit 'unstable' and she was known to have strange, irregular mood swings. But her personality wasn't the only strange thing about her. For one thing, she was terribly pale and thin and had dark purple circles under her eyes from lack of sleep. Her friends and professors worried about her health, but knew there was nothing they could really do about it. It was best to just leave Jordan alone-just leave her alone and nothing bad would happen to either of you.

For another thing, her clothes were always mismatched, rumpled and far too baggy on her small frame. She always wore a pair of beat up, 'Converse All Stars', but one was red and the other was bright blue. Same with her socks-one was a knee high black argyle and the other was a short white sock that barely came up to her ankle. Her pants were baggy, black cargos that had huge pockets which were always stuffed with pens, pencils, erasers and other various things. Her shirt today was just a plain olive green t-shirt--today she managed to not put it on backwards or inside out.

Her hair was long and copper colored. It was always tied back and always looked tangled and unkept. But despite all of this, Jordan was a simple, pretty girl with deep, heavy lidded hazel green eyes, nicely arched eyebrows, full lips which were turned down in the corners-giving her a rather wistful look. Her face and arms were lily white-it suited her well. Her nose was nice and small and her face had hardly any blemishes on it.

But no man asked her for her phone number, talked to her in the hall, carried her books for her or even offered her a friendly smile. Why? Because she was 'unstable.' The only friend she had at College was David, a musical genius as people described him. He was a tall, thin man with short brown hair and bright blue eyes. He was also rather pale and very handsome, but no one talked to him either because he associated with Jordan and people thought he was 'unstable' as well. David was perfectly normal though and he didn't seem to mind the fact that no one talked to him because of his friendship with Jordan. He knew she needed him and in a way, he needed her.

He was the only one who really understood the depths of Jordan's brilliance, for although she dressed in strange clothes and sometimes talked to herself out loud, she was a talented writer. She could read material many years beyond her own age. When she was 14, she was reading the _Iliad_, Edgar Allen Poe and Stephen King. As she grew older, her writing improved greatly, but unfortunately, so did her 'unstableness.'

David knew she was one of those misunderstood, 'unstable' geniuses and so he treated her with respect and praised her work. He was gentle with her and made sure she laughed and smiled often, for sometimes she had suicidal tendencies. Jordan loved David like a brother and so she tried to keep her 'unstableness' as under control as she could manage it. She wanted him to have as normal of a friend as possible.

"I miss you David." She whispered, even though he was sitting a few rows back from her. Jordan felt lonely even if someone was a few feet away from her, she needed them to be right beside her in order to no longer feel lonely.

As if knowing what she was thinking, David balled up a piece of paper and chucked it at her. It smacked her in the back of her head. She wheeled around and he grinned at her and shrugged. She gave him a small smile and picked the note up off the floor before the professor spotted it. She unfolded it and shielded it as well, her eyes traveling quickly. That was another part of her genius, she was a very quick reader.

'What's bothering you, cherie?' The note said. Jordan smiled to herself. Cherie was one of David's nicknames for her, because she and him had taken French all through High School and were both pretty fluent in it. Jordan had thought it sounded pretty and so David began calling her by it. She picked up her pen and began writing a response-

'It's them. They're staring at me. I don't like it. Why do they stare? Am I some kind of freak? How would they know? How could they all know? Am I that different? I don't like it, David.' She balled it up and tossed it back to David, watching him unfold it and read it, watching his face for any kind of expression. At last he picked up his own pen and scribbled something down before throwing it back to her. She unfolded it quickly and read the response.

'You are not different, remember? Remember Erik? Van Gogh? They didn't understand them. That's all there is to it. They just don't understand you.' She glowered as she read the note and then wrote in thick, capital letters-

'I AM TIRED OF BEING MISUNDERSTOOD.' She threw it back to David and turned her back to him, not wanting a reply this time. She didn't want his encouraging words right now.

But she was tired of being misunderstood.

A/N: Well, there's the prologe. This is one of my more serious stories. I have more humors/romantic ones, but I wanted to try something new. Tell me what you think, please. Any kind of review helps.


	2. A Strange Revalation

Chapter Two-A Strange Revalation

"Jordan...please pick up...I know you're there." This was about the fifth message that David had left on Jordan's answering machine. She was home of course, locked up in her studio-'writing.' Right now she was upset and didn't want to talk to David. Jordan sighed and looked down at the most recent poem she wrote. With another, deeper sigh, she crumbled it up and tossed it into her trash can. Lately she hadn't been to happy with her writing, but she kept trying, as if to force something out, something of value.

Writing was her life. It was all she ever did when she came home after college, she would just sit up in her room and write for hours. It helped keep her thoughts off her life and all the things that she had to go through. Her psychiatrist had suggested it to her as a way to help her and at first Jordan was hesitant-uncertain that anything she wrote would be brilliant and worthwhile like all the other stories and poems she read by William Shakespeare, Robert Frost and Edgar Allen Poe. But the more she wrote, the more evident it became that she had a gift.

But today nothing was coming to her, so Jordan set down her pen, grabbed a book, donned her long, black, Matrix-like coat and headed out the door, making sure to lock it behind her. She deiced that she would walk down to the local coffee shop, order a cup of coffee and read a book. Usually this helped her break through her writer's block and besides, it was a beautiful fall day in Maine. The leaves had all turned orange, red and yellow and the air was becoming cooler and crisper. Winter was soon on it's way and Jordan smiled to herself.

Winter was her favorites season. Everything was covered in ice and frost–making the world she knew beautiful and crystalline. Also, it gave her an excuse to lay in bed for hours under her thick warm blankets–one of her favorite things to do was sleep. Not because she was depressed and didn't want to do anything, but because she could dream and think and imagine a lot easier while laying in bed with her eyes closed.

But Jordan did not get much sleep, the voices...the ones that whispered things to her at night saw to this. She tried to shut them out, to think of other things, but they were there, whispering evil things to her–about how she was crazy and how no one liked her, not even David...

Jordan shook her head, clearing her mind of those things. She didn't want to think about them right now, she just wanted to have a nice, normal afternoon. She smiled to herself as she pushed open the door to the coffee shop. She ignored the fact that everyone turned to look at her when she walked in and promptly stalked over to the counter.

"Ah-how ya doing Jordan?" Bill, one of the workers asked, while automatically turning to the coffee machine and fixing Jordan a cup. Jordan had been coming here for the last year or so and Bill got to know her quite well. He knew she was a little off and so he was very careful around her, but was sure to be friendly as well. He also knew she was a writer and somewhat of a loner and that she always liked her coffee the same way, with milk and cream–regular coffee was too bitter for her.

"I've been fine." Jordan answered at last, her voice sounding dull and monotone.

"Well, here you go sweetheart." He said, handing her the warm cup of coffee. Jordan dug around in her pockets and pulled out a couple of rumpled bills. She carefully counted them and saw that it was only two dollars and the coffee was 3.50.

"Ah...don't worry about it..." Bill offered gently, but Jordan's eyes blazed with anger and she slammed the money down on the counter.

"No!" She shouted, her copper hair falling into her eyes. "I can pay for it! You don't have to pity me! Shut up, just shut up!" She was clutching her ears now as if trying to block out something, but Bill had no idea what. Then it dawned on him. She must be hearing things again, things only she could hear.

"Hey miss, I think you miscounted your money." A man's voice cut in. Jordan took her hands away from her ears and looked down at the counter. Sure enough, three dollar bills and two silver quarters rested on the counter.

"Oh..." She said softly and then looked at the man who had spoken to her. He was at least a head taller than her with short, dark blonde hair and brown eyes, over which he wore thick rimmed glasses.

"Mort Rainey." He said pleasantly, holding out a broad hand. Jordan held out her own, pale, slender hand and shook his firmly.

"I'm Jordan Rees." She replied softly, surprised by this new stranger. He gave her a bright smile and looked into her hazel green eyes.

"Good to meet you." He said before walking off. Jordan stared after him for awhile until Bill cleared his throat rather softly so that Jordan began looking around, trying to figure out where the source of the sound came from until Bull spoke-

"Here's your coffee." He said again, gesturing to it.

"Oh, thank you Bill." She replied sweetly, picking it up and walking over to a corner table, away from everybody else–who were now whispering. She took a sip of her coffee and picked up her book, thumbing through the pages until she found where she left off. You see, Jordan doesn't need a bookmark, she can remember exactly where she left off in a story or even remember the page number. She leaned back in her chair and started reading.

_'"It is as easy as lying,' said Hamlet. "Press the vents with your fingers and thumbs, give it breath with your mouth and it will discourse most eloquent music. Look, don't you see the stops?_

_'But I have not the skill, my lord.'_

_'Why, look you now,' Hamlet growled, tearing the recorder out of Guildenstern's hands. 'How unworthy a thing you make of me. You would play upon me, you would seem to know my stops, you would pluck out the heart of my mystery, you would sound me from lowest to highest note! There is much excellent music in this little instrument,' he shook the recorder in Guildenstern's face, 'and yet you cannot make it speak. God's blood, do you think me easier to play upon than a pipe?"_

_He threw the instrument to the ground and it shattered at Guildenstern's feet.'_

"Ah, Hamlet. That's a good book." A familiar voice said. Jordan looked up from said book, slightly irritated that someone would interrupt her when she was reading, but she found herself smiling when she saw that it was Mort Rainey.

"Hello, sir." She replied softly. Mort laughed lightly and sat down in a chair across from him.

"You don't have to call me sir, just Mort will do." He said.

"Well then, hello Mort." She replied pleasantly, closing her book and setting it down on the table.

"You know, I think I've seen you around here a couple times before." Mort noted all of a sudden, looking at Jordan closely. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, but managed a weak smile. She didn't like it when people stared at her. People have been staring at her like she was some kind of freak for her whole life and she was sick of it. Mort must've sensed her unease because he shifted his gaze elsewhere and she sat up straight again.

"Well, I do come here a lot." She replied at last.

"Do you live close by?" Mort asked, casting a quick glance at her before looking out the window again.

"I do. You?" She replied simply. Mort nodded.

"I have a house up at Tashmore Lake. I used to live in New York though." He drawled.

"New York?" Jordan asked in awe. She had heard many things about New York, the lights, the sky scrapers, taxis and how it looked like a penny arcade when it was all lit up at night. The city that never sleeps, as people referred to it.

She had always wanted to visit New York, but knew it was impossible. Her doctor and psychiatrist had forbidden her from driving anywhere for many reasons. One reason, she didn't know how--Two, being in a new place might frighten her and make her even more 'unbalanced.' It was just safer for her if she stayed in a place she already knew.

"You've never been there?" Mort was asking. Jordan shook her head slowly.

"Why did you move?" She asked before Mort could ask her why she had never traveled to New York with Maine being so close and all.

"Oh, I just needed to get away." Mort replied, giving her a wry smile. He didn't feel like telling her about his wife, Amy, who had cheated on him with Ted. He didn't want to relive that again–after all, it was all he could think about most of the time."I need to get away too. But I have no where I can go."

"I wish I could help you." Mort offered. Jordan shrugged her shoulders and sighed, picking up her book once again.

"There's nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do for me." She replied, disappearing behind her book again and Mort took that as a sign to leave her alone. He got up and left the table, offering a soft goodbye. Jordan never looked up from her book though.

**xXx**

The weeks went by and Jordan and Mort saw more of each other, considering the fact that Bill's coffee house was both their favorite coffee shops. Some days they would hardly talk and things would get so awkward that Jordan would pull out another book of her's and Mort would pull out a pad and pencil, trying to think of new ideas for the story he wanted to write.

But other days it was as if they were the best of friends, sitting and talking until the sunset because neither of them had anywhere they needed to be. They talked about many things, being misunderstood, William Shakespeare, Edgar Allen Poe, life in general, the best movies to go see and they're favorite types of music.

Another thing they talked about was writing and being writers because they found out that both of them are passionate about writing. Jordan was an aspiring writer, she had only published one small book of poems that didn't sell too well. But Mort was a well known writer. He had several best selling books and Jordan was awed by this fact. She never thought she'd meet a famous writer, nor did she think that she would become good friends with one.

Because they were good friends. There were no romantic feelings between them, they just cared for one another as most good friends do-in fact they were almost like brother and sister.

But sadly, things were about to take a very wrong turn.

**xXx**

Mort Rainey was taking nap on his favorite, battered old couch when suddenly his phone rang, shrill and loud. With a grunt he sat up and grabbed the phone which rested on the coffee table in front of him.

"Hello?" He asked, his voice thick from sleep.

"Mort...oh god..." He instantly recognized Jordan's voice, except it was full of panic and desperation.

"Jordan...take a deep breath...explain." He said gently, knowing working with Jordan took patience and gentleness.

"Some one burned down my freakin' house!" She cried.

"What–who, do you know?" Mort asked, hopping to his feet and struggling to take his tattered old robe off and slipping his shoes into a pair of sneakers.

"No, the police can't figure out anything, only that it was a home made fire...bomb...thing." She replied, trying to describe things.

"I'll be right there okay–just stay there, just wait." Mort said, feeling his own heartbeat quicken.

"Okay, please hurry." Jordan answered, her voice a whisper now.

"You got it. Bye." He replied shortly.

"Goodbye." Jordan echoed and Mort slammed the phone down on the cradle.

**xXx**

Once Mort arrived where Jordan's house once was, he saw her talking to a fireman with another man standing next to her, an arm around her shoulders.

"Hey!" He called out. Jordan turned around and offered him a weak smile.

"Hello Mort. Thank you for coming."She said softly.

"Of course." He assured her.

"Oh, David–this is my new friend Mort--Mort, this is my best friend, David." Jordan said, gesturing to the man beside her, who was eyeing Mort carefully.

"Hey, good to meet you." Mort replied cheerfully, holding out a hand.

"Yeah, good to meet you too." David agreed, shaking Mort's hand firmly.

"Well Ms. Rees, I'm afraid you're going to be needing a place to stay for a while so we can rebuild your house. Your insurance promised to cover it." The fireman cut in, looking at Jordan who smiled in return.

"Thank you." She murmured softly. The fireman nodded and wandered off to his teammates again. "But where am I going to stay?" She asked herself.

"Well, with me of course–unless you'd prefer somewhere else." David offered, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"Actually, I would. Mort, if you don't mind–could I stay at your house?" She asked. Mort looked up, taken by surprise.

"Uh...sure...if you want to." He replied. Jordan beamed at him.

"Thank you." She said softly. She then turned to David, who looked a bit taken aback. "It's okay, isn't it?"

"Of course, it's your choice." He assured her, ruffling her hair playfully.

"Well, we better be going then. You've had a hard day, huh?" Mort said to Jordan, who nodded. "Alright...we'll see you later." He called to David and lead Jordan to his car.

**xXx**

"Welcome to my lovely home." Mort said, sweeping his arms extravagantly. Jordan laughed softly and looked about her. The house was simple with a couch and a coffee table in the living room and a small kitchen and dining room. There were stairs leading up to the second floor of the house and Jordan knew that must be where Mort slept and worked on his story.

"It is lovely." She replied.

"You're just saying that to be nice." Mort replied, carrying her bags up the stairs.

"Am not." She called, following him.

"Are too." He called down. She ran up the stairs behind him and followed him to a room. "This is where you're staying." He said, setting down her bags at the foot of the bed.

"But...isn't this your room?" She asked.

"Yeah, but I always sleep on the couch–so don't worry about it." He replied.

"Are you sure?" She persisted.

"Sure I'm sure." He replied and grinned. Jordan just gave him a small smile and stepped farther into the room.

"Thank you." She whispered.

"You're welcome. Down, you get settled and I'll go see if I can scavenge something up for dinner." Mort replied, walking down the stairs. Jordan sat down on the bed and looked around the small, but cozy room. She liked it here.

**xXx**

Someone was pounding on the front door. Jordan could hear it from her room. The walls must be paper thin. With a groan, she sat up and looked at the digital clock on the night stand. It was 10:00 in the morning. She groaned again as she stood up and stretched. Whoever was pounding on the door had not let up and Jordan wondered if Mort hear it. She decided he hadn't and made her way out of the room and down the stairs. She stopped halfway down the stairs and saw that Mort had gotten the door and was now standing in the doorway, his back turned to her.

"You stole my story." He drawled in a heavy Mississippi accent. Jordan squinted hard, trying to see who he was talking to, but it appeared to be no one. Why was Mort talking to himself? Or did she just not see the person at the door? She looked harder, but still saw no one. Just Mort who was now switching back between the southern accent and his normal voice. It started frightening Jordan and she walked the rest of the way down the stairs, stopping at the bottom.

"Mort...who are you talking to?" She asked. Mort continued the conversation a bit longer before turning around to look at her, a puzzled expression on his face.

"No one Jordan. What gave you that idea?" He asked, looking at her oddly. _'Oh yea, that's right...she's a little 'off.' Maybe she just imagined it.' _Mort thought to himself. "Come on Jordan, let's get something to eat." He said cheerfully and walked to the kitchen. Jordan followed him slowly.

Suddenly, Jordan wished she had stayed with David.

Thanks to Jinxeh, the White Masque, Incubus2074 and Dawnie-7 for reviewing! I'll do proper responses later, but it's late at night and I'm tired!


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